Decisions
by WinterWhirls
Summary: He talks gently, soothingly. The sound of his voice is everything. It's familiarity. It's security. It's a promise of hope. She concentrates on his deep, even breathing and tries unsuccessfully to match her own to his. Post-Undercover. Elliot/Olivia.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Olivia is trying to be strong after Sealview. Is Elliot the strength that she really needs?

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Dick Wolf. Anything you recognize isn't mine!

Spoilers: Big spoilers for Undercover!

A/N: Hey guys, please enjoy and remember to leave a review! This is my first fic ever.

"Liv, you must be tired. Go home, get some sleep."

"El, I'm _fine_."

She tries not to roll her eyes. It isn't like she doesn't appreciate his concern – she does, but she hates to be told what to do. She's almost forty; she knows how to take care of herself. And she's so, _so _sick of everyone silently assessing her mental state every thirty seconds, and trying to make it seem like, no, they aren't actually invading her privacy. She's tired of sideways glances, and she's tired of Elliot hovering over her constantly like she's going to suddenly lose control.

It's sweet of him, but she really, _really_ needs to know that in these shocking moments, she's still independent. She needs to assure herself that she can continue to manage on her own. She needs to show everyone that she's still the same Olivia Benson that she was six days ago.

Yes, she had been thrown in a fucking hellhole.

Yes, she'd suffered through the incessant insults and severe mistreatments.

Yes, it had been close. Way too fucking close.

But by the grace of God, she'd got out. Alive. Safe.

Olivia Benson is a Survivor. She's told herself this over and over. _He didn't even __**do **__anything. _It's what she _has _to tell herself, because she can't stand to think that that bastard got the better of her. She can't bear the realization that she had surrendered, that she'd given up. She has to shut the emotions out – ignore her mental collapse. And only then will she maybe – _maybe _– be able to forget.

"C'mon, I'll drive you home."

"I can walk."

"I want to see you home safe," he insists. She wants him to just _please _be quiet. She needs quiet. She needs to get a grip.

"Thanks, but I'll manage."

"Liv, I think we should talk-"

"Elliot." She sternly cuts him off. "Leave it alone." She doesn't feel any guit at the cold, hurt glare he shoots her. She knows he's always hated her stubborness.

It's his fist slamming down on the desk that scares the shit out of her.

"Damn it Olivia!" He's in her face, piercing blue eyes pouring into her chocolate ones. "I'm your partner! You're supposed to trust me!"

He looks pissed. Her strong façade crumbles the instant she pictures a very big, very angry guard that had been standing over her not twelve hours ago.

And Olivia has to calm her body the fuck down. It's just Elliot, it's just Elliot. Open your eyes. Look at his _blue _eyes. You're in the squad room, not in the basement. Oh, God, the basement the basement the basement-

His hand comes and wraps around the back of her neck. His gentle hand. His unbelievably comforting hand. His breathing slows, and his stare softens as he brushes his thumb along the back of her neck. "Liv? Breathe, Liv."

Her eyes open, and she snaps back to the present. Her chest loosens to manage some sort of attempt at releasing the breath she didn't know she has been holding. "El?" Her own voice rattles her. From where did this high-pitched, shaky, whimper-of-a-sound come?

"Yeah, it's me. Hey, calm down, okay?" Just the sound of his voice is everything. It's familiarity. It's security. It's a promise of hope. She concentrates on his deep, even breathing and tries pathetically to match her panicked ones to his.

His own voice is shaky, whether it's the proximity or the fact that she's scared him shitless, she doesn't know. Probably a bit of both.

"Let me drive you, Olivia."

She reconsiders. She runs everything through her head. Walking home in the dark in New York City does not seem like a particularly good idea after all, especially after the episode she's just pulled on Elliot. And she's just accepting a ride, after all. It's nothing she wouldn't have done after a long case, or on a rainy evening. She's not giving herself away. She may just have to work twice as hard to keep up the act, is all.

She sighs. "Ok, El, fine." For some reason, it feels like giving up. "Thanks," She adds, in an afterthought.

Elliot keeps his serious gaze on her for another ten seconds, probably checking to see if she is bluffing. He should just accept the response before she chickens out.

"Let's go." He finally says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she gets up. She doesn't like the fact that he thinks she needs help, and she doesn't know what to do with the fact that he's all to willing to _be _the help.

She's not quite sure what she's doing as she lets him support her out of the precinct. She's on the verge of backing out because she knows she's not in control right now. She knows that it's Elliot at the reigns for the moment. And she's afraid again because she _needs _that control. She can't loose it ever again. Not like in the basement, when everything was spiralling out of her hands and someone bigger and stronger was at the wheel. She holds onto the notion that as long as she's in control of _herself_, she's also in control of what _happens _to her.

So to Olivia, it's a huge step when she lets Elliot open her car door, and when she lets him help her sit down comfortably with the help of his steadying hand. She's letting him take her home. She's placing her safety in someone else's hands. She's placing her trust in someone.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Constructive critisism is always helpful, but please be gentle - it's my first fic!


	2. Chapter 2

The ride home is silent. Absolutely. Dead. Silent.

Olivia has nothing to say, and she can tell Elliot doesn't want to talk, just in case he's ruining her opportunity. She wants to tell him that his talking is so much better than the crushing silence. She'd rather he even talked about Kathy or the baby…anything to break this quietness that pressures her mind, and is so tangible that she feels if she reached out, she could sieve her fingers through it.

The silence is choking her, and she almost laughs at the thought that twenty minutes ago, all she wanted was to be alone and quiet. Now, the mere contemplation of being left to perish with her thoughts is so unspeakably unappealing that she almost asks Elliot if he'll come up to her apartment with her. Almost.

She's so confused. She tells a victim every day that what happens to them is _not _their fault. So why in the hell can't she stop blaming herself? _Well, that's easy. _Olivia gave up. The fire that Harris extinguished in her heart is the very same one she swore would never be put out. By anyone. Under any circumstance. No, she would never let her spirit be blown out like a candle. And yet, that night, something inside Olivia Benson had definitely been shut off. And it breaks her heart to know that she may never get that piece of herself back.

It's like she is incapable of feeling anymore. She can see, and hear, and smell, but her heart has been hardened and soul has been damaged to an extent where she can't even connect to the one person who seems to matter anymore. Elliot.

Her head turns the slightest bit in his direction, and she watches him intently while he drives the last block to her building. If he notices her fixed stare, he says nothing. God Bless him. She doesn't think her fragile mind can handle any more questions.

Olivia wonders why he's still here. She knows for a fact that she'd be fucking pissed if _she'd_ stuck by _him_ all day, making sure he was alright, and all she got was shit for it. It hits her then that in her own misery, she's injured the one and only person who has a chance of making it better for her.

She is utterly surprised, and not in a good sense, when a single, warm tear slides onto her bruised cheek. She sniffles, and tries to get rid of the treacherous mark without Elliot noticing. But in the midst of all her dire thoughts, she has failed to notice that they have arrived in front of her building and that Elliot is patiently looking at her, awaiting her exit. Of course his concern is ignited the moment he sees her rekindled discomfort.

"Olivia…" He whispers, as if he's drawn a blank at what to say to her.

"Elliot, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." She says, not caring that her face must be screwed up and that her eyes have let drip some more deceitful tears.

His face summons a look of confusion. "What? Liv, why are you apologizing?" His hand leaves the wheel and cups the back of her neck soothingly.

"I've been so horrible to you all day, and I _know_ all you wanted to do was help, El."

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together. "Olivia, I don't blame you. Not in the least, Sweetheart. Please, _please _don't beat yourself up over this."

She shrugs, and tries to suppress her guiltiness. "I just want you to know I regret it," She answers, looking him in the eye.

"I know. I know, Olivia."

She nods, comforted at least by the fact that he doesn't see upset with her. His hand is warm on the back of her neck, and the way his thumb traces little circles on the side of her face is just what she needs in order to escape reality and find peace in unconsciousness. Only no matter how hard she tries, the tears will not stop. It's like that one tear was the break the flood gates were waiting for in order to open up wide.

Elliot's hand gently moves her head to face him, and his other arms come up to tenderly caress her bruised cheekbone. He's so caring that it doesn't hurt at all.

"Let me take care of you, Olivia."

Oh, god. If that wasn't just what she needed to hear.

But the decision she faces now is almost too much to handle. She's so afraid that if she opens up, if she gives Elliot permission to enter her mind, that he'll book it to the nearest airport and fly to Antarctica. But she reminds herself that this is _Elliot _she's talking about. Not just some guy looking for good gossip. He actually cares about her, and really wants to help heal her.

And she knows that admitting the fact that she does, in fact, need Elliot to help her is her first step in the right direction. It's terrifying, it really is, but she's trying to convince herself it will help her greatly in the long run.

So, it's after five more minutes of contemplating, sitting there in the car with Elliot holding her face in his hands, that she leans into his touch, and accepts his offer.

"You want to come up?"


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia isn't at all sure she is going to make it up to her apartment. As strong and as sovereign as she wants to will herself to be, her legs have been rendered to incapable jell-o as the physical exhaustion sweeps over her in unmerciful waves. She wonders, with a grimace, what Elliot would do if she asked him to carry her. It's then that she realizes that Elliot would not at all be opposed to the idea. As a matter of fact, she wouldn't be surprised if at some point between here and her threshold Elliot put forth the ridiculous offer.

Not ridiculous, she corrects herself, because there is absolutely no doubt in her mind that the man couldn't carry her up four flights of steep staircase. Staircase, because there is no way in _hell _that she's entering some dark, confined area like an elevator again for a long, _long _time. Yes, her brain is fucked up enough for the moment without having to deal with flashbacks, thank you very much.

Every degree, every single muscle, in her body is screaming it's protest and objection as she continues her ascent. She wants more than anything to just sit down and _stay _down until morning, when she has to face the dread of returning to work. In fact, she probably would have, had Elliot not been with her. She won't, _won't _let him see how much this has affected her. The last thing she needs is a bunch of over-caring people treating her like a victim.

Because she is _not _a victim.

She's Olivia Benson, fearless cop who would _never _let _anyone _take her down. Olivia Benson, intrepid woman who boldly kicks the ass of Jacks and assorted pervs and pricks. So, yeah, maybe he'd over powered her. Maybe he'd scared her shitless and yes, her body does bear many a physical proof of their encounter. But Harris can't have any effect on her mind unless she lets him…right?

Elliot's hand is literally burning a hole through the back of her shirt. It's a constant, reassuring warmth on the small of her back, ready at all times to catch her if she falls, and at the same time, guiding her in the right direction.

It's all begun to be just a _bit _too much for her to handle.

"Uh, El?" She stops and turns to face him, jumping at his unexpected proximity. It's his gentle hand on her shoulder that steadies her, as well as his calming blue eyes.

"Liv?"

"Uh, can I, um, take a little break?" The short sentence demanded three breaths from her, breaking her speech in several places.

Elliot's eyes were sparking concern when she had unexpectedly jumped seconds earlier, but turn immediately to understanding as he helps her sit down on the stairs. "Yeah, Liv, just take your time."

She takes three, deep, calming breaths as she gives her exerted legs a well-deserved rest. Her eyes close without her consent, and she's not sure she has it in her to win this battle between herself and her droopy eyelids. As she expected, she gives up after wrenching them open four times, and leans into Elliot for support.

Elliot's shoulder is a welcoming safe haven for her head (which, by the way, has taken to lolling back and forth of it's own accord, not doing anything to help with the many kinks in her neck) and so she can, at least for the moment, rest in peace- assured comfort. Elliot's solid muscle of an arm settles around her, pulling her more securely into his tender embrace.

"You know, Olivia, you don't have to hide from me."

His words are unforeseen, and it takes her cloudy, sleep-deprived mind a minute to regulate itself enough for her to understand what he is saying.

"Please, El, I don't want to talk about it. Not now." She punctuates the sentence with a hearty yawn. But then again, maybe it is just the icing on the cake – a way for her to get out of talking this one over. Another stifled yawn…or maybe not.

He seems to get the drift that she is simply way too exhausted to talk about anything right now, whether it were her mental state or baseball statistics. She was too far into a nightmarish la-la-land to comprehend anything, let alone talk about her fucked up, horrid emotions.

An astonishingly short twenty or so minutes later, something shakes her the slightest bit. She knows it's trying to rouse her, and something, somewhere in the back of her mind is telling to get the hell up. She reluctantly opens one eye, and is met with searing darkness, despite the street lamp outside. It has her suddenly hyper-aware senses reeling within seconds. She jumps to her feet, trying to escape the warm cage that is around her. A terrified shriek escapes the confines of her sticky, dry mouth.

And then there is something tight around her hand, and oh, shit it won't let go no matter how hard she cries and yanks at it, and someone is speaking firmly to her and she wants to tell it to shut the fuck up because she has to _concentrate _if she wants to get out of this basement. Oh, Jesus, Harris can probably hear her yelling, and is coming to get her, coming to rape her –

"Olivia, it's Elliot, it's Elliot, and you're okay,"

She stops yelling long enough to recognize that voice. Ah, shit, that's El's voice. Why does he sound so scared? Why are his blue eyes pouring concern and helplessness out onto the floor? Well, of course he's fucking scared, now Harris is going to kill them both! Wait…. no, she's in the stairwell. The stairwell to her apartment. Yelling loud enough for her neighbours to call the cops and with tears pouring down her face. Oh, god, she's freaked out royally, this time. The thing holding her hostage by the wrist is actually Elliot's warm hand, keeping her from taking a very unwanted tumble down to the third floor. And he talks in soothing tones, not the coldness she'd expected from Harris.

"El?" She squeaks, barley audible and in a scarily shaky voice.

Relief flashed throughout his features. "Yeah, Liv, it's me."

As soon as some of the fear drains her, embarrassment takes it's place. What has she done? She's probably scarred her partner for the rest of his life, is what. He hasn't moved, perhaps afraid that any sudden movement or unwanted gesture of comfort will send her into overdrive again.

"El," She sniffs again, her face puckering with tears. "Bring me home, please." She doesn't even have the strength to be embarrassed anymore, as she falls into his stunned embrace, hands wrapping in a vice-grip around his collar.

"Jesus." He pulls her frozen frame the rest of the way towards him, and folds his arms around her in a tight and much appreciated hug. His lips brush her ear as he whispers reassuring thoughts and words of comfort into her.

Her arms move from his jacket to loop around his neck. Elliot understands what she wants and pulls her up at the knees, carrying her bridal-style as Olivia still shakes with the tremors of terror and her tears. It looks like her earlier thoughts of her being carried aren't so stupid anymore. Elliot, seemingly effortlessly, brings her to the door of her apartment and mercifully uses his spare key to enter her sanctuary.

Olivia sees black as her eyes are closed and all she wants to do is flop down on her bed and never, ever wake up. If this is how it's going to be, well then, screw this, she doesn't want to try. She has no intention of getting up every morning and facing a world where anything, anywhere could trigger the sort of haunting stunt she's just pulled on a poor, poor Elliot. She's truly sorry that the man had to be witness to his partner's mental collapse, but she's too damn tired to say so. And she's absolutely terrified of the prospect of getting help from a professional.

It's as if heaven came down to kiss her as he lays her down underneath her duvet. It's amazingly soft against her legs. Wait. Where did her pants go? Oh, well, she's honestly way too lost to give a shit. But now she's cold, and if she's cold, she'll think of how cold it was in that wretched basement.

"El?"

"Yeah, Liv?"

"Please stay,"

"I will. I'll be just in the living room. Call me if you need _anything, _Olivia."

"No, El," Dammit, she wants to stop talking and go to sleep, "I mean, stay _here_."

She hopes he doesn't need anymore prompting, because quite frankly, she may just die if she has to spit out any more words tonight. She must have pleased God at some point recently, though, because after a short-lived pause, she feels the mattress dip and soon enough, his ever comforting, warm body is flush against hers. His chin fits over her head, and his arms wind around her body in a perfect, perfect embrace. As his lips find the top of her head, he whispers, "Night, Liv."

But she's way to tired to even begin to formulate words. She hopes he doesn't mind.

And it's with her partner's strong arms securely around her that she falls restlessly into tortured dreams that sever her damaged soul, and undoubtedly haunt her memory forever.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I really enjoy reading them… much appreciated!

He isn't sure how long he has been asleep. It can't have been long, he realizes, because he is lacking the drowsiness and disorientation that usually accompanies a deep or lengthy sleep. He isn't even confused; which is surprising, considering he has awoken in a bed that isn't his, but very much Olivia's.

He listens acutely for a moment, trying to figure out what it is that pulled him from his troubled slumber. His breaths are held; his ears are straining, ready to acknowledge even the slightest of noises. It doesn't take long at all for the source of disturbance to present itself.

Olivia whimpers again, shifting restlessly under the covers, tangling herself up in the sheets. A sheen of cold sweat is damp across her forehead, and her face bears an expression of panicked, unadulterated fear as she tries ruthlessly to escape the confines of her twisted nightmare.

And Elliot is fucking clueless as to what the hell he's supposed to do. Sure, he's been faced with frenzied victims before, hysterical, even, but Jesus Christ, this is _Olivia _he's dealing with. His _partner_. He wonders just how he's supposed to help her, when she hasn't even told him what the fuck happened in that wretched basement. That horrid, god-forsaken hellhole.

He tentatively reaches out a hand to shake her, deciding that saving her from her thoughts is his first priority, for his mental well being as much as for hers. He can't even begin to comprehend how much it destroys him to see his strong and independent partner in such a weak and helpless position.

"Liv, Liv, wake up." His hand lands on her shoulder, gently trying to rouse her. "Olivia, c'mon, open your eyes," He tries to be commanding, he tries to rid her of her panic in a firm fashion, but at the moment he's scared shitless. All he has managed to do is shake her gently, terrified of hurting or scaring her further.

"No, please, don't." Olivia sobs beneath her breath, her bruised arm coming in contact with his hand, swiping at it, trying to release his grip. And Elliot lets go of her as if he has been burned. He's finding it very difficult indeed to touch her when his hands are not welcome. But he has to; he _has _to let her know that she's safe, that she's with _him _now, not with that bastard Harris.

"Olivia, it's me, its Elliot, wake up!" He is more insistent now, his hands and tone urging her to just _please _come to reality.

But Olivia is lost to the world of the conscious, and far beyond any rational thought, enveloped in the choking hold of her horrifying nightmare. She tosses, she turns, and Elliot notices that her panic kicks up a notch when his hands find her upper arms.

"Get away from me! Help me!" She shrieks, trying to pull out of his steel grasp. Elliot shakes her back and forth, as if he can physically force the thoughts out of her and rid her of her troubles.

Elliot now has to divide his attention between waking her, and dodging the feet and fists that she flails around; trying desperately to defend herself against something she can't see.

"Liv! Wake up!" He's yelling now, too, because he's just as desperate. She has to wake up; he can't let her endure this torture any longer than she needs to.

Even if he has to take things to the next level.

_Because Olivia isn't waking up_. Because she's trapped in her terror. Because _Jesus Christ_, she's going to break his bones the way she's pounding on him.

Elliot wraps his arms tightly around her waist, and pulls her off the bed. The action is much, much more difficult than he had originally expected it to be, what with the way she scratches at his arms, and yanks at her sheets – anything get away.

Because she thinks that he's Harris. Well, _fuck._

"Come _on_, Olivia!" He pulls her again, and this time her strength is less than his. As much as it hurts him to carry her when she is practically _begging _to be let go, he knows that she needs to be woken up. He lifts her and takes her, kicking and screaming, to the bathroom where he immediately starts the shower.

And while his attention is focused and the taps, Olivia manages to land one lucky punch. _One lucky punch_, cracking his nose.

"Ow, Shit!" He coughs, spluttering as blood drips into his mouth, trickling down from his wound. It tastes of rust and metal and he wants to wash it out, he's always hated that taste, but he's got more pressing matters at the moment. He wraps his arms around a hysterical Olivia's torso, pinning her arms at her sides. Her feet incessantly assault his shins as she fights 'Harris' persistently.

He pushes her under the stream of the shower, and now she is calming, her sobs and screams subsiding as the cold water rains down on her body. Elliot recognizes the flash of reality that occupies her eyes for a split second, all it takes for her to recognize him, as well.

"Elliot?" Her voice is small and scared, and she's shaking dreadfully, like she may never recover from the shock. "Oh, god, El," Elliot watches in horror as Olivia slides down the wet wall of the shower stall and buries her face in her knees. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"No, Olivia, you listen to me." His fingers find her chin, and very gently, so not to freak her out, he pulls her face up to look at him. "Don't apologize. It's _not _you, sweetheart."

Her head starts to shake, back and forth and now she's crying all over again. "I never meant to hurt you, El."

"You didn't, Liv."

She scoffs. "Like hell, have you seen your face?" And then she buries hers back into her knees.

Elliot notices she's still shaking, and isn't sure if it's from the fear or from the coldness of the shower. Both, probably. So, he reaches over and soaks himself and he turns off the taps. He then reaches for one of Olivia's fluffy blue towels and wraps it around her shoulders. She whimpers when he touches her accidentally, and he withdraws immediately.

He is utterly surprised when her hand darts out and wraps his wrist in a death grip. "Don't leave me, Elliot."

Tears come to his eyes when he realizes just how helpless she is. She's changed. The Olivia Benson that he knows would die before giving so much of herself away. This Olivia, the one cowered in the bottom of the tub, rocking herself back and forth while gripping his wrist and begging him not to leave, is not the same woman he has known for the past nine years. The woman sitting there is broken. She looks so small, in the wake of being swallowed by her anguished fear. Elliot knows that he needs to help her, but he doesn't know how to do so without hurting her more. She's made it quite clear to him that she does _not _want to talk about what happened, not so soon after, anyway. Elliot doesn't know how to fix her without taking her back to a place that she sure as hell doesn't want to visit.

And then he has a problem, because he knows that Olivia will _never _agree to get help. No, his tough, stubborn, diligent partner will never admit her weaknesses.

But, he thinks, as he watches her pull his towards her, maybe this new Olivia will. Maybe an Olivia who understands that getting help does _not _mean being weak will agree to be healed by someone other than herself.

Elliot contemplates all of this as he sits in the hard, cold tub next to her, letting her climb into his lap. He wonders if she will ever be able to come back to work, or if Sealview was that straw that broke the camel's back, for her.

Olivia hides her face in his neck, contorting her limbs to wrap around him, making damn sure that he can't get away. His hands rub soothing circles in her back, and he makes sure to keep them moving so that she knows he's still there, that he hasn't abandoned her.

"I'm so afraid, Elliot."

"It's okay, you're alright. You don't have to be afraid of _me_, Liv." Elliot holds her even closer against him.

"I know, I just…I don't want to think about it."

"When something is bothering _me_, it usually helps get it out of my head if I talk about it," Elliot tries again to get he to open up to him. He honestly believes that this is what can help her, because even if she's Olivia, even if she's still the fearless cop, his strong partner, she is also an assault victim. And from experience, Elliot knows that victims almost always feel better after admitting what happened to them.

Olivia is silent. He knows she trusts him completely, and that it's herself she doesn't trust. He knows that the decision she faces now depends entirely on how she thinks she can handle it. Because she's already feeling humiliated, she doesn't need to feel that even more by having herself loose it on him again.

"I'm not going anywhere, Liv," He gives her a small squeeze to back up his point. "I won't ever leave you, no matter what, and I'll always be near you, ready to listen."

She sniffs, fresh tears marring her beautiful face. "I don't want you to think of me differently because of this," She hides in his neck again.

"I won't, Liv. No one is here to judge you. No matter what happened, it's not your fault and you have nothing to be embarrassed about."

Elliot feels the shudder that runs through her, a few moments of silence after the last time he has spoken. She lifts her head from his neck, and looks into his eyes, chocolate brown meeting ocean blue. And he knows, as she stands and leads him to her bedroom, he knows as she pulls him close to her as she lies down, he _knows _that now, after the storm that has passed, she's ready to open herself up to him. He knows she is ready to tell him.

A/N: Please leave a review; I'd like to know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay! I haven't gotten many reviews, so I'm wondering if this story is sparking people's interest? I know a "post-undercover" has been done, re-done and over-done, so I could start something new if that would be better, or interest people more.

Anyways, here's for another chapter, and here's hoping you'll kindly review at the end!

ENJOY!

Thanks

He silently follows her to the bedroom, letting her lead him by the hand. He's decided to giver her the control, because he figures that's what she needs in order to feel more confident. More secure. If, that is, she can manage it in the wake of recent events.

Olivia drags her feet in measured paces, almost as if she's forcing herself to keep putting one foot ahead of the other. Elliot understands that she must be exhausted, both mentally and physically. He knows the effect that undercover work can have on your mind. When you're on edge, twenty four seven, when you can't let down your guard or allow your mind to relax for even one miserable minute, when you live with the constant fear of being found out.

He rethinks. No, he doesn't understand how Olivia must be feeling. In fact, he can't even imagine. He knows that he has no fucking clue as to the horrors she suffered at the hands of Harris. He can't even begin to make an attempt at guessing.

Oh, God. What had happened to her? How did his independent, headstrong partner become rendered to the mess in front of him? The beautiful, tortured soul?

It's then that he notices the bruising on her legs. He hadn't paid attention to it before, trying his damndest to keep his eyes the fuck off her body in order to save them both a hell of a lot of trouble. But he sure sees them now, big, angry blotches that mar her soft skin. Ugly, hurtful scrapes and welts and other assorted injuries dance around on her body in a disarrayed pattern.

"Jesus, Olivia." His breath intake is sharp, and the tears that spring to his eyes burn like the darkest pits of hell, like where he'd fucking love to send Harris to live out the rest of his days and to rot.

She freezes at the foot of the bed, and turns to look back at him. He notices that she looks like a scared rabbit, like a deer caught in the headlights. "El?" Her voice is velvet soft, and she gently reaches up to caress his face. "Elliot, please don't cry."

And now he fucking hates himself. Why in the hell is she comforting him? It supposed to be the other way around! He takes her hand in his and tries to smile, concocting some sort of grimace that he's sure would have been funny, had the situation not been so dire.

"It's okay, Liv. I'm just…shocked, is all." He drops his head to take a better look at her exposed legs. "You need to take care of that," He adds, running a finger especially softly against her damaged exterior.

He feels it the moment she recoils, the moment she tells herself to act like the Olivia that everyone knows. Elliot looks up and meets his serious eyes meet hers. What she needs right now, more than anything else, are bandages and a bottle of disinfectant.

But Olivia pulls away, apparently uncomfortable in the extreme at having someone touch her. And Elliot can see where she's coming from. He gets it. She's too unstable at the moment to have anyone care for her that way. Elliot can be her rock, he can be her shoulder to lean on, but he should have known that she'd draw the line at personal paramedic.

"Come on, El. I'm okay. Let's just lie down. Please."

"Yeah, alright, Livia." He's not about to argue with her. His goal here is to make her feel as safe as possible, as comforted as she's ever felt. And he's determined to let her have what she feels is right, at the moment.

His hand finds the small of her back, and he tries not to notice the shudder of fear that ripples down her spine. Elliot knows that Olivia has crawled right back into the unbreakable shell she always uses to shield herself from damage. Whose walls he can't knock down, no matter how hard he tries.

Olivia sighs heavily, her fatigue spiking again, for she can't have slept more that three hours. Elliot makes a personal vow to make sure that she gets a decent amount of peace before she starts the next day of the rest of her life. Because she deserves at least a moment of paradise in which she can float, before the storm clouds come crashing in. Because she deserves some untainted happiness before she starts the hell that will be the next few weeks.

He had been appalled, completely horrified when she'd come back from Sealview. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed, and her hair was messy and slightly greasy. He'd only seen Olivia like that when she'd had the stomach flu. Now, she'd come into the station house, walked up to her locker, gotten a change of clothes and ran off to the cribs so quickly that no one even had time to say "Hi." And the bruise on her cheek was completely obvious.

Elliot had walked over to Fin, who looked tired and shaken but otherwise all right. When he'd asked about Olivia's state of being, Fin had simply shook his head and relieved a torturously small bit of information. "He had her, Elliot. It's bad." And then he, too, sauntered off to do God knows what.

And now Elliot pulls the comforter up and over her slender, injured body and lets her squish herself as closely against him as the laws of physics will allow. Her fingers clamp around his shirt, making sure that, even if he wants to, he can't get away.

"Olivia, I know you're tired, but…"

"Just…. give me a minute, El." She says, softly. Elliot knows that she's preparing herself for the shock of the floodgates opening. He knows she's going to reveal a part of herself to him that he doubts anyone has seen before. She's going to let go of her soul and open up her heart to him. Let him see her vulnerable side.

"Take all the time you need, Olivia." His chin rests on top of her head, her silky soft hair brushing his neck. He can feel her deep, deep intake of breath against him.

After a minute of silence, Olivia speaks.

"El, you gotta understand, I never meant to let him have me. I swear I never meant to give up. I tried my best and I gave all that I had, but I guess it wasn't good enough." She sniffles, and Elliot feels the wetness of fresh tears against his chest.

"I know, Olivia. You were so brave and I'm so, _so _proud of you."

"He had me cornered, I…I don't know what possessed me to hide in a place with no exit…I just…It was a spur of the moment idea – the adrenaline rush took away my rational thought."

She shudders, and Elliot squeezes her to remind her that he's here, and he's listening. That he's here to try and save her.

"I was screaming, crying, _pleading _for him to let me go…sick fuck didn't even hesitate." She shakes her head against his chest. Elliot tries to clear his mind. He knows he'll be the one to break down if he let's these newfound images of Olivia and Harris swarm his head any longer. And then he wonders how Olivia must be feeling, she who has to deal with actual memories and physical reminders.

"He b-beat me, with his baton, and then h-he ch-chased me down the corridor. You'd be happy to know I elbowed his face in," She says, with a strained little chuckle.

He runs his fingers through her hair, acknowledging her attempt at humour, though not finding it in himself to laugh along with her.

"And, finally, he caught up with me. He, uh, he…punched me, and I d-don't know how but I ended up on the f-floor…and then I was – I was handcuffed to the d-door, and"- She broke off, chocking on the tears she was trying desperately to hold in.

"Shh, Olivia, take a deep breath, honey, you're safe." Elliot rubs her back soothingly, and rocks her, like you'd rock a baby. Because this is how he must go about it. Olivia is like a baby, whose mind is delicate and whose soul is fragile.

She is silent for a long time after that, her tears subsiding, and her breathing returning to a healthy pace. She's so quiet, in fact, that Elliot suspects that she's succumbed to her fatigue. He's just about to give himself over, when he hears her soft, quiet, hushed voice.

"He said he'd kill me if I bit him."

And that sentence is the equivalent of someone shoving a white-hot knife into his heart, twisting and wrenching the dull blade, the searing pain shooting into every pour of his body. Disgust so wholesome, so pure, that he worries he may empty his stomach on her bed. He makes a noise that is something like a sob while he tries to get his raging thoughts and out-of-control body to calm the fuck down. He _needs _to, for Olivia.

"Jesus Christ." It's the best he can do, for now.

"Yeah, but Fin got there, before anything else got out of hand."

Elliot suddenly wants to call Fin, wants to have Fin in his arms and squeeze the fucking life out of him, screw a man-hug, next time he sets eyes on his fellow detective, he'll hug him like an over-enthusiastic female adolescent. And then he thinks of his poor Olivia.

"Oh, Liv. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby."

She clings to him like he's her most prized possession, like he's about to disappear. "Me, too. But we got Ashley Tyler's rapist. That's all that matters."

He shakes his head against her. "You're alive, Liv. You're safe. _That's _all that matters."

She sniffles, and closes her eyes. "If you think so, El. Thank you."

"I'll always look out for you, Olivia. Whenever you call, I'll be right beside you."

She smiles serenely. "That really means a lot, El." She snuggles closer, and hides in his chest, seemingly trying to clear her mind of her horrible memories. "I'm glad you're here."

She lapses into a shaky silence again, probably trying to get a hold of herself. He knows she's done for tonight. Her energy is spent; she's too tired to talk anymore.

But Elliot's mind is reeling. He's busy thinking up ways he can sneak into the prison and slit Harris's throat. After beating the shit out of him, of course. It's settled, the next man who _ever _touches his partner will regret it for the rest of his miserable life. He's going to make sure that his dearest Olivia is never, ever placed in such a revolting situation again. He'll give his everything to protect her, to shield her from the evils of the world, no matter how impossible it seems, no matter how much she objects to the idea. He'll guard her; body and soul, and he'll be her rock, her stability for as long as she needs him. And when she's healed, when she doesn't need him beside her any longer, he will be there still; forever watching over her, keeping her feeling safe and strong, and confident, building her up to be the Olivia that she's always been.

"I love you, Liv. Never doubt that."

He doesn't know if she's heard him, she may be too lost in the realms of sleep, but he thinks that she already knows. He thinks that she has a pretty good idea in her mind of just _how much _he cares.

Lost in the moment of peace with his Olivia, he, too, gives himself over to unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the delay, hope you all enjoy! *I apologize for any spelling mistakes... ;) *

The next time Olivia awakes, it is, fortunately, in peace. Outside, it is some point after dawn, but before the usual matinee rush that usually greets her. The nighttime sounds have abated; filling the world with a pregnant silence. The sky is light and clear, the sun just beginning to sweep the vast expanse with it's bright light.

Looking back over her shoulder, she sees Elliot who is still sound asleep, his arm thrown over her waist, resting with a comforting weight. Her back is pressed against his hard chest, and the embrace seems so familiar, so unbelievably easy, that her heart suddenly yearns to wake up beside him like this every morning.

Olivia swims in this moment of complete silence, in Elliot's hold, closing her eyes as if shutting down her line of vision will in turn shut out the memories she wants so intensely to forget. But there is no forgetting, not so soon after in any case. Phantom touches haunt her clammy skin and voices echo in her mind. She feels dirty with the thoughts that dance in her head.

Olivia decides that a shower is much needed. A shower would at least help her ease the way her skin crawls and the disgusting allure of prison that seems to emanate from her. She smells, that much she'll admit. She feels sorry for Elliot, the one who had to sleep beside her that night. Under any other circumstance, she would have been nervous, on edge about her partner holding her whist she cried herself to sleep, but she knows he's probably going to come out as screwed up from this as she is; at least they are even.

She gently lifts his arm from her body and in a move that would make a ninja jealous, she escapes the confines of her bed. She doesn't want to wake him, wondering how much sleep _he_ got last night. In her mind, it's all a blur. She remembers being scared, she remembers telling him all her fears and feeling considerably more secure afterwards.

Walking into the bathroom, she flips on the light and closes the door. As she crosses the room to relieve herself, she chances a quick glance in the mirror. Her eyes are red and puffy, her hair looks like a haystack and she has that gross crusty junk on the inside of her eye. Yes, definitely time for a wash.

She wonders how her life will be, now that the carpet has been pulled out from under her feet. She's fallen down a long, long staircase and she wonders how the hell she's ever going to make it back to the top again. She wants to do it herself, after all, nothing even happened – who is she to be weak and suffering over something that _almost _took place, when other women out there are being treated in a manor far worse than what _she _went through? She doesn't deserve the attention, the pitying glances, Elliot's care, when she isn't even a victim of the intended crime! The only thing she can do to alleviate this awful feeling of helplessness is to get back to work as soon as possible and show all those bastards just who the fuck is in charge, here. She'll work as much overtime as it takes, she thinks, to get all these twisted people off the streets. At least if her plan A fails, the intense case load and the complex theories will keep her mind from reeling, from thinking back to…and dammit, now she's back to square one, back to Harris, that square she really doesn't want to be on.

She needs to find something to occupy herself. She gets up and turns on the shower, stripping and getting in without waiting for the hot water tank to kick in.

Cold water. Cold shower. Just like back in…. Oh, Jesus. Olivia starts to tremble and she suddenly can't wait for the heat to arrive.

Elliot wakes up with a start. It's the kind of sleep you get jerked out of and you're sure you've jumped enough to have woken the whole damned house. He waits for the rushing in his ears to calm, his heart rate to slow and then his brain works again, unceremoniously reminding him of last night's events. And then, with another near heart attack, he realizes Olivia isn't beside him.

If her condition remains the same at the previous night, then she sure as hell shouldn't be alone. He doesn't want to push or crowd her, no; he just wants to know where the hell she is every single second of every single day. Damn. So much for giving her space, then.

Elliot's ears pick up the gently trickle of running water, and he realizes that Olivia must be in the shower. Relieved that this morning her panic seems to be overrun by her rational mind, he decides that it's all right for her to be alone for this moment. He certainly doesn't want to go in there while she's showering, only to trigger a memory or some other horrid thought in her over-worked mind, taking them both back to home base, the place they were last night, the place they both want to avoid.

So, he allows her these few minutes to relax and he shifts to turn onto his stomach. He doesn't fall asleep, though, because he wants to be ready if Olivia needs him. So he lies and mulls everything over in his head, swearing again and again that he'll help this woman get through, no matter the cost, no matter how long or hard he has to work.

Olivia's skin is now red and raw with the scorching heat of her shower. And the rough bristles on the shower brush aren't doing anything to help, either. After being reminded of how cold showers were back in Sealview, Olivia had turned the shower on to just north of hotter than she could stand. She never wanted to be cold again. Ever. And now she was on a mission, rubbing her skin relentlessly to try and be rid of the feelings of his hands on her. Only every time she goes to set the brush down, every time she tells herself that enough is enough, the feeling comes back, stronger than before.

So she goes back to scrubbing.

She scrubs, scrubs, and scrubs. So much that it hurts, that her skin breaks open in some parts and that it bleeds tiny rivers of red.

She doesn't know how long she's been in the shower, nor does she really give a shit. Time just confuses her; it just makes her think of past and future until she accidentally looses her grip on the present, on herself.

The water isn't cold yet, but she can feel the temperature dropping by a about a degree every three minutes or so. But she doesn't want to get out. She'll only want to get back in once she towels herself off and remembers that she's so, so dirty. She doesn't want Elliot to feel this way too; she won't pass this burden onto him.

Elliot is starting to worry. He's shifted and tosses so much that her bedding is like a whirlpool, wrapped tightly around his body. But he can't stop moving around, he can't help worrying. Olivia has been in the shower for thirty-two minutes, and he hasn't heard anything except and constant, insistent scratching sound. She hasn't spoken, she hasn't sung, he hasn't heard the shampoo bottle open or close, only that scratching noise that sends shivers down his spine. What the fuck is she doing in there?

Ten minutes and a lot of scratching later, he decides he can't stand it anymore. In one angry, swift movement he's up and out of her bed, taking long strides towards her bathroom door.

"Olivia?" He asked, in a confident but gentle voice, opening the door a little and knocking at the same time. "Liv?"

There is no answer. Just that God damned scrubbing noise. That, and an eerie silence.

He enters that bathroom more fully, and he's not afraid of invading her privacy anymore because she's not answering him and he's really fucking worried. And he can't see anything through this damn steam anyways.

"Olivia?" He tries again, this time his voice holds a hint of fear in it. He hopes she doesn't hear how scared he is. He's counting on his strength to keep her up, also.

There still isn't an answer, still that same noise, coming from behind the shower curtain. He knows she's back there; maybe she's too lost in her thoughts to answer. Maybe it's because she fell asleep…wouldn't explain the noise, though.

"Liv, is everything OK in there?"

Silence.

"I-I'm going to…I'm going to pull the curtain back, OK?"

And then the scratching stops. Now that he's closer to her, he can hear her shaky breathing, uneven and laboured. "Liv?" His throat has run dry, and her name comes out hoarse from his lips.

"Go away, El." Her voice is flat. Dead.

He's surprised at her words. It really shouldn't cause the breath to catch in his throat that she doesn't want him around, he should have expected it, but still, it's like a knife through his heart. "What?" His broken voice is just above a whisper.

"I said, go away. Don't come near me." Her voice is fierce, but he can hear her tears amidst her conviction.

"Liv, what's wrong?"

"Don't come near me…I'm filthy."

Now he's utterly confused. Filthy? How can she be…she's been in that damned shower for nearly fifty minutes. "Not possible, Olivia, you've been in there a long time."

She is silent again, and as much as he wants to agree with everything she says and as much as he would like to obey her, leave her in peace, the back of his mind won't stop worrying about her. She sounds so upset, so disturbed by something that he just can't let her go.

"What's going on?" He asks, trying to sound unaffected by her response to him.

"I already told you, I'm filthy. Filthy, filthy, filthy." The spooky scrubbing resumes, and Elliot can't help himself when he tears back the curtain, desperate to know what the irritating, nerve-wracking sound is. He has a difficult time hiding his gasp of shock when he sees her skin, bright red and abused by the shower brush in her hand, that vigorously bites at her flesh.

"Aw, honey, where're you at, Liv." He says gently, soothingly, reaching out to turn off the shower. He is forceful when he removes the brush from her hands, because she doesn't want to let go.

"El, I don't want you to be dirty like me…please, go away…"

His heart almost breaks in two when he sees just how affected she is by this whole ordeal. Last night was horrid, but he doesn't think anything could quite compare to this.

Two hours later, she's lying on the couch, with the lightest shirt she could find draped gently over her irritated body. Elliot rambles through her kitchen, looking for God knows what, probably just trying to occupy himself. She wants to reassure him that it's okay, that they're not dead or something terrible like that, but she can't find her voice. There isn't anything else to say, really, and talking to him about nothing important would just expend too much energy from her mind.

But she still desperately wants to let him know that he doesn't need to worry anymore. She will try not to hurt herself again. It was stupid, she sees that now, it was dumb and not one of her brightest ideas, but she couldn't figure out any other way to do it. She needed to release Harris's hold on her. He's mostly gone now, thankfully, but she can still feel him sometimes…maybe it's only her imagination.

She still needs to let Elliot know that they're okay, now.

She gets up gingerly, not wanting to run her aching body over any surface. She pads over to where he stands at her kitchen sink, looking out the window. Olivia wraps her arms around him from behind and sets her chin on his shoulder, content when he doesn't pull away or cringe or anything equally embarrassing. He hums once, acknowledging her presence, and turns around, taking her in turn into his embrace.

"Thanks you Elliot. I really appreciate everything. But we're better now, you know?"

She can feel him stiffen, she can see the doubt in his eyes and it's an expression she really doesn't want to see on his face right now.

Wisely deciding to let it go, she tucks her head under his chin and lets him gently rock her. It's almost as if they are dancing in the middle of her kitchen, an emotional waltz that only they know that steps to.

Olivia lifts her face to look into his eyes, only to find his gaze already fixed on her. And slowly, and extremely gently, his hands come up to frame her face, a small smile drifting across his handsome features.

"I love you, Liv. I admire your bravery." He speaks kindly, running his thumb over her cheek, letting her know that he's here for her, always.

She's too shocked to answer, she's rooted to the spot, so she just smiles slightly and pulls his soft lips to her warm ones, parting them in a sweet kiss that is everything comforting and yet encouraging and passionate all at once.

It's time to move past, time to let Elliot help her.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the wait…you know, the big rush right before the holidays lol. But, now that it's Christmas vacation I _should_ find more time to write. I hope you guys don't feel like it's dragging on too long. The past couple of chapters have been fillers, but know that I _do _have a plot in mind for where this is going. If I don't post anything until the twenty-fifth, then Merry Christmas, everyone! Read and enjoy, and I'd appreciate any and all comments…Oh, and just so you know, **bolded **words mean a switch in POV.

**She **quickly turns it passionate. She fuses their lips together once again, her mouth insistent against his. Her slender fingers find their way around his neck, and twine in the hair at his nape. Elliot's hands have come to rest on her hips. Elliot tries to say something, but his feeble attempt at speech is swallowed when Olivia's tongue probes past the barriers of his lips.

Olivia releases a sigh of contentment as she works her mouth and tongue against his, and she simultaneously tightens her arms around his shoulders and melds her body to his.

She's so lost in the moment, in the pure ecstasy of finally touching, feeling, kissing her partner that it takes her a good thirty seconds to realize that his steadying hands on her hips are not being used to pull her closer. They are, on the contrary, working to keep her body at a distance from his. And Olivia really doesn't like this idea.

"El," She whispers, and forces herself to him, pressing her chest tightly to his. She doesn't want him to think about this. She doesn't want to think about this, either. Because his hands on her body are the only things keeping the tremors of fear from Sealview at bay. She's found out that when he touches her, when his skin is flush against hers, it erases the phantom touches that are impregnated into her skin, put there by Harris. And there's nothing she wants in this moment as much as she wants to forget Lowell Harris, the bastard. Nothing she wants more, except, maybe, Elliot.

"Elliot, _please_," Her mouth at his ear, she pleads feverishly with him for understanding. For him to give her what she wants. She drags her mouth back to his, stealing his breath and capturing his lips in a fight for control.

He tries to turn his head, but her arms are on either side of his neck, so he's not getting very far with that idea. He is taller, though, and her cage of limbs is not restricting him from moving his face upwards, out of the line of her lips, to stare at the ceiling. He can be so God damned stubborn, sometimes. It's not really a problem to her, though, because she just takes the opportunity to greet the newly exposed skin of his neck. She presses kisses down the side of his jaw, and suckles his pulse point in a delicate yet determined manner.

"Liv, Fuck." Elliot's voice is raspy, and his breathing is laboured. "You need to stop."

She buries her face in his shoulder and presses her whole body flush against his.

"Why?" She asks, her voice small. "I want this," She says, as her fingernails dig into his shoulder blades.

He roughly grabs her by the waist and forces her to stay at arms length. "No, you sure as hell don't." His voice would be threatening to her if her mind were clear enough to process thought.

"What?" She asks, her voice breathy. She fights against his grip, desperate to feel him against her again. She can already sense the skin crawly feeling of rough hands, mean hands, bruising her flesh.

"I said, you don't want this Liv."

"How do you know what I want?" She asks, as she uses her own arms to try and pull him to her. She succeeds in placing a chaste kiss to his stiff lips before he's got a hand on the back of her neck, gently guiding her away. His eyes are clouded with something she can only name as desire. "Besides, you can't tell me you don't feel the same way, you said you love me." Elliot making a sound of frustration follows her words. She tries to ignore him.

Then, she runs her arms down his chest and around his hips, hooking her thumb through his belt loops, mimicking his position on her. She strongly jerks his hips forward, and there is a brief, yet sensual contact between the two of them. "Come on, Elliot, Come on…"

His eyes close, and she can tell he's giving a lot of effort in order to stay in control. She wants him to loose control though, she just wants to forget, to leave her current life…even if it's just for a few hours. She wants him to take care of her the way she needs – even if it doesn't seem right to him. Because she knows he is the only sure thing she has left, the only way she has to wash off Harris's hold on her once and for all. She feels tears cloud her tires eyes for the millionth time because she just wants is so badly.

**When** Elliot hears her sniffle, he opens his eyes and looks down at her. He swallows harshly, before he pulls her closer. Olivia's hope rekindles, and she is going to make sure he's never regretting his choice to –

But he only holds her, in a warm, firm embrace. "You only think you want this, Olivia. But tomorrow, when it's all said and done, you will wish you'd never asked me." He leans his neck to try and see her face, but it is ruthlessly buried against the collar of his shirt. She's trying to hide her embarrassment. "I know you, Olivia. Better than you know yourself right now."

"Elliot, I want you to help me." Her words are whispered, but even then he can hear the determination in her voice. "Please, just help me." And her shoulders shake again as she tries not to convey her weakness.

"Liv, trust me, it's not what you need." He runs a soothing hand over her hair, smoothing her rumpled waves.

"Elliot, I _need _to forget him, I need you to make him go away." Her voice is tiny, and her breathing hits his neck in small huffs.

He sighs, and is disappointed to realize that his throat and lungs are too tense for a proper, deep inhale. "He can't hurt you anymore, Liv. You know that. He's in prison, honey."

"No," She protests, tensing up in his embrace. "You don't know…he's with me everywhere I go!" She stomps her right foot for emphasis.

Elliot releases her and puts a hand to each side of her face, framing her head. He presses his lips softly to her forehead, letting her know that he wants her, he does, just not right now. Not under these circumstances.

"Make me forget, Elliot." Now she's kissing his neck again and fuck; if she doesn't stop now they'll both be in shit. "Please,"

Her words literally freeze the blood in his veins. He itches to help her, and his body yearns for hers – it always has. But Olivia certainly isn't herself right now. She's confused and desperate and her psyche is severely damaged. He's not going to give her something he knows she'll regret later. He will _not _take advantage of her like that.

Her breathing is becoming erratic, and she's clawing at the buttons on his shirt. Tears keep reappearing on her cheeks and Elliot is sure that the Real Olivia Benson has no idea what the fuck she's doing. He wraps his big masculine hand around both of hers, bringing them away from his shirt and back to her sides.

"Sshhh, Liv. Relax." He coaxes her into a steadier state of mind. More stable. Stable is good; she'll be able to think straight. "Think about this, okay?"

"I _am_," she says, her protest weakened by the rawness of her throat. "Please, you don't understand, my skin… it…it's always crawling!" She shoves her hands out from under his grip. Her brown eyes dart back and forth between his blue ones. "El, I need you to take those feelings away…I want you to replace them with your love." She pauses, assess his response. "You…you said you love me, right?"

He shakes his head to clear it, and then hugs Olivia, tighter than ever before. He fits his face into the crook of her neck and presses hers into his shoulder. "Oh, Liv. Of course I do. It's not that I…don't…don't _want _to, believe me, I do…I just…I refuse to do this now, Liv. You've gone through too much in the last twenty-four hours. I don't want this to break you."

"Break me?" Her voice is muffled. "How can you break something that was never fixed in the first place?"

"You're whole, Olivia. Believe it or not, you are. No matter how shattered you feel. I love you, and I trust your judgment, but I'm deciding for _us _that this shouldn't happen now."

"Elliot, I want…please…erase his hands…put your hands on me…" She is breathing steadily now, and her voice sounds at his ear. Each breath is against the side of his face. She surprises him (and not in a bad way at _all_) when she sucks his earlobe into her mouth. After lapping it twice with her tongue, she grazes her teeth over the sensitive flesh and then soothes with her tongue. He barley contains his moan of appreciation, and feels himself harden at the proximity of her body. His hands come up involuntarily to grip her waist, fingers tight on her skin. "Yes, Elliot." Her voice is barley audible.

He's not sure what he's going to do. He doesn't know how he's going to last. He wants desperately to calm her, to soothe her and take away her pain, but he's convinced that this isn't what Normal Olivia Benson would really want. He's afraid of damaging her delicate state, he's afraid of waking up in the morning in her bed and finding that she's disappeared.

Olivia moans her general appreciation in his ear when he slips his hands upward, just grazing the sides of her breasts. He'll help her, he will.

Just not all the way.

Not tonight.

Tonight will be just about her, about making her forget.

He'll try his best, always.

"Livia, come back to bed, honey."


	8. Chapter 8

Okie Dokie, here's the next part. I hope you enjoy, things are about to get _twisted…_

Oh, and THANK YOU for the reviews! You guys make my day. Actually. No, like, really. I do a happy dance every time one comes in. Shout out to **Hazmatt, **who asked me a good question - - is El married? Well, to make this easier (and better, for the sake of E/O….if you know what I mean) I'll make this slightly AU - Elliot is divorced. He has his own apartment and Kathy…well; Kathy lives a busy and happy life somewhere else. I actually have nothing against her character – (she's not mean, she's not clingy, she's not a snobby bitch, she's just _there_…) lol anyways, people who like Kathy (Do you exist? Hehe) I'll make sure there's _some _Kathy in it too. Well, maybe. It's my story, after all. But leave your thoughts in a (multi-layered?) review and I'll definitely take opinions into consideration. If you read this incredibly long Author's Note, congratulations, you have the virtue of patience and perseverance. To the story! Haha.

"_Come back to bed, Liv."_

Olivia freezes against him. Is he serious? Is he actually giving her what she wants? Needs?

No. She knows he can't deprive her of much, but this…this she never thought he would agree to.

She supposes it has something to do with the way she's wrapped around him like a pretzel. She supposes that it's just her womanly wiles kicking into action, capturing him with her gaze, incarcerating him with her charm.

He tries (and fails) to keep his eagerness hidden. Olivia can feel him clearly against her, even as he grabs her hips and pushes them away from his.

Her heart accelerates as a lazy smile adorns her face, while she presses sloppy kisses to the underside of his jaw. "Really?"

He doesn't answer, just starts to walk backwards, pushing her towards the door to her room while simultaneously fusing his lips to her forehead. Olivia fights against the small feeling of rejection when he purposefully avoids her own searching lips. It's a tiny feeling, a barley-there knot writhing in her stomach, but she can feel it. But, she can sure as hell ignore it, too. Nothing is going to ruin this for her. Even if Elliot doesn't feel for her the way she does for him, she's going to enjoy her time with him while it lasts. Damn right, she is.

Olivia summons the courage from every nerve ending in her body and lifts her leg to wrap around his hip in a gentle but firm embrace-of-sorts. Her name falls quietly from his lips, but the single word is laced with a kind of anguish she doesn't recognize, has never heard him use before.

"Don't think about it, El. Just help me." She knows the last part was unfair, after all, he wouldn't…_couldn't _say no to helping her, no matter what, but even if it is unfair, it's what she really feels. Ghosts of the previous days haunt her mind and her skin – all she wants to do is escape the confines of her own head for a little. She wants to be focused on something other than her memories. She wants to forget that horrid things have happened and she knows the only way to do that is to distract herself.

And then, there's the aspect of her argument where she's convinced that Elliot's movements on her skin will erase the sin of Harris's touch. Elliot is everything gentle and soothing, he's her rock, her focal point, her axis and at the same time her orbit path. His touch is light and comforting, yet he conveys a passion that sears her to the core. He brings alive her dormant feelings, ones she's surprised to feel in the light of recent events. There's just _something _inexplicable about the way he looks at her, holds her waist, that strengthens the bond of trust existing between them, so much that it engulfs the space in her heart and maybe the word 'love' comes into her mind.

There's also, though, buried in the deep recesses of her mind, begging to be set loose, the voice that taunts her. The voice that whispers to her that she shouldn't. That yeah, it would really suck if she freaked out at Elliot again. It tells her to stop, and think about how she's going to feel when Elliot gets scared, when he realized that she's just _too much _to handle, when he gets on a plane and flies back into the open arms of his ex-wife. That small yet determined voice insists on planting images of Harris and his sick obsessions into her head.

And the more she pushes to bury them, the more persistent her friend becomes. The more she pushed to ignore the trembly feelings, the stronger she feels when she conquers them – for the time being.

The voice is only a teeny, tiny part of her determination _presently_, she's much to focused on Elliot's belt, but it sure knows that it's only a matter of time before something brings her mind back into that basement.

**God, she's so beautiful**. She's gorgeous. She's the devil's apprentice at it's best. And yet, there's this special innocence that seems to surround her. And that's what keeps him grounded. He absolutely can _not _go through with this. Not so soon after Harris. But dear God, how he _so _wants to. He just wants to…devour her. Take her over to that unmade bed and show her just how much she means to him. But he's better than that. He's stronger than that, and he just needs to make himself understand.

He remembers George throwing him some shit about her being mentally unstable. About how her emotions were scattered all over the plate, about how her subliminal mind would want and do things that Olivia, in her "normal" state, would never dream of. About how crucial it was not to damage her already shaky psyche. He'd barley paid attention at the time, far too engrossed in watching his partner descend the precinct stairs, but now he wished to God that he had paid closer attention to what the psychiatrist was saying. At least then he might have a lead as to how to go about this.

And he's finding it extremely hard not to _be_ hard. Fuck. She needs no further encouragement in her quest to victory. He deftly gabs her hips and swings her away from him, into the doorway of her bedroom. If she's any closer, then he'll lose his carefully constructed control and they'll both be in shit. Well, actually, he'd sure as hell enjoy it. But it's not about him. It's about her, and with an internal chuckle, he realizes it always has been.

"Liv, please." Please, don't do this. Don't make me do this. Don't force this choice on me and don't let me break your heart.

"I know, El. Soon, I promise." She speaks against his skin and he freezes when she misinterprets his meaning. "You're the one holding us back, baby."

He tries not to groan, but her words are too much for him. How easy it would be to just give in, and let her have her way. How easy it would be for him to just throw all judgment out the window and take them both into oblivion.

He tries with all his might to crush to pressing thoughts, and succeeds for the time being, though it is a fierce internal battle. As Olivia falls back onto the bed, pulling him with her, he tries to ignore the pleasure that sparks through his body at the feeling of their alignment. But the mental overflow of emotions leaves him drained and completely uncertain, so he rests his weight on his forearms and poses his face in her hair, breathing deeply.

"Liv – I can't."

"Sshhh. Yes, you can."

"Liv, please, I don't…"

"Elliot, there's nothing I want more."

"You only think that, Olivia." He speaks gently, praying that he doesn't offend her, because that would just be the icing on the fucking cake.

"You don't know what I think, Stabler."

With a devilish and completely out-of-character grin, she bucks her hips up to his.

Fucking _hell._

**He freezes above her**. Her eyes snap to his, trying to convey how much she needs this. Needs to forget. Simply wants to be loved in the wake of all the violence. And what the hell does he know about what she thinks, anyway? She knows him, though, and by the look in his eyes, he wants to just as much as she does.

Her judgment may have been a little off, though, because after inhaling a deep, deep breath, he lifts his face from the crook of her neck, and after kissing her forehead tenderly, rolls over from on top of her, he gets up off the bed. Elliot looks into her eyes, and caresses her face. Although she is sure he wants to do this too, his internal turmoil is evident and he leaves her for the kitchen. Leaves her, her _bed_, for the fucking kitchen. A gigantic lump forms in her throat.

She feels cold without him and she doesn't know what to do now that the colossal feeling of rejection so big that it could swallow her whole. 'Should've listened to me,' that damned voice taunts her.

He leaves sadness in his wake. And from his dust, Lowell Harris's face is reincarnated to imprint fear in every crevice of her body.

She wants to die.

**When he returns to her bedroom **with the two Advil and a glass of water, she is rolled over on the farthest possible point from him, on her side, the covers tucked way, way up. She doesn't want to show it, but he knows she's scared and sad and that he's probably broken her 'subconscious' heart, too. But what he also knows is that he made the right choice. Neither is strong enough in these moments to survive the epitome of the act that would have followed. Olivia would have been permanently damaged, her mind pushed past the brink of comprehension. She would have been destroyed.

He deposits the glass and Advil where she can see it, so that she can take it if she feels like doing so. Next, he climbs into the bed next to her, on top of the duvet, and spoons lightly with her, his presence just meant to reassure as his arm sneaks around her waist.

"It'll happen, Olivia. I promise. Just…not right now, okay?"

He doesn't receive and answer.

He didn't expect to.

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

Elliot has yet to return home. He's been to his apartment a bunch of times, to pick things up, but he'd spent every night since their little "incident" over at Olivia's. She had been eerily silent for the past weeks, and she had yet to return to her norm. He hated himself for what had taken place that night, but he wasn't backing out on his decision. Not until he was certain she was stable. And right now, she was obviously anything but. She'd been spending days in her bed, with the door locked, forcing him away. At night her lights were always off, and she slept with the door closed. He took the hint, and left her alone when she wished it. Other times, she was happy as a clam to be with him, but she never spoke a lot. She'd make random observations that made him question her presence of mind. They'd taken a walk in the park a week and a half ago, the first time she hadn't gone straight to work and home again. She had been nervous, he could tell. But he thought she was amazing and he admired her bravery beyond anything else.

And damn, he wanted her. But for the time being, he had kept his promise to both of them. And for the time being, Olivia had made no further advances. She showered twice a day and took a bath a lunch. He didn't know what it meant.

Elliot has just let himself into her apartment; he's been out doing her errands.

"Liv?" He calls out, hoping she'll answer, hoping she hasn't gone back to work this evening. "Olivia?"

"In here," She calls from the bathroom. He realizes that she's taking another one of her obsessive baths. He has never understood her urge to clean herself three times a day, but then again, what the fuck _does_ he get about her anymore, anyway? He tries to understand, but Olivia is like a stranger to him now.

"I got your favourite!" He calls out, hoping to spark conversation. "Chinese takeout!"

"Hmmm…" It's all he's going to get, he knows it. She's lapsed back into silence again.

"Hurry, it's getting cold, Liv."

"Okay," She says, and a couple minutes later he hears the tub start to empty.

Living with her right now is like living with a robot. She goes through the motions, but he knows she isn't really _there_. Of course, she talks to him when she has to and she's kind to him and she sometimes lets him hold her, but her presence of mind is something he continually questions.

Several minutes later, Olivia emerges from her room dressed in comfortable-looking pyjama pants and a t-shirt. She props herself against the counter.

"Your day was good?" He asked, glancing at her for a second before returning his attention to the meal before him.

"Fine. Slow, no cases came in."

He makes a sound to acknowledge her, and nods absently.

It continues like this for several minutes.

Once, he tried to leave. It was about two or three days after he had denied her, and when he was positive she would never speak to him again.

He'd taken his jacked and tied his shoes. As he opened the door, Olivia appeared out of the entrance to her bedroom and her eyes widened instantly.

She'd then gone and thrown a complete fit. She had been incredibly upset. She'd grabbed his arm tightly and begged him not to leave, her eyes glistening with tears. She's pleaded with him not to let her be alone with 'him'. Now, he knows who 'him' is. It had taken him several seconds to figure it out. Harris. Fucking bastard.

Olivia had sat with him on the couch that night, not touching him, just facing him. She'd curled herself up and she was watching him with wide eyes. She watched him All. Night. Long.

So much for trust, he thought. She was convinced he would try to leave again. When he promised her he would stay, she's narrowed her eyes, and then nodded.

And then she locked herself in her room and cried. He heard her.

Now, she sits opposite him, absent-mindedly sorting through her mail.

He focuses on his food.

That is, until he sees her freeze. Until he notices her face has paled several shades.

Her mouth is open, and horror is in her eyes. The letter she grips in her hands transfixes her. And she doesn't breathe.

"Liv?"

She doesn't move a muscle.

He abandons his fork, which clutters noisily to the table, and rushes to his feet. "Liv, what is it?" He asks urgently, hastily getting to her side.

"Oh my God, Elliot." She whispers, horrified. She holds out the letter to him. The envelope is blank besides her address.

_Dearest Detective,_

_I want you to wear something nice when I come over to finish the job. _

_A formal occasion, Olivia. I've missed you so much, and my head is filled with nothing but you and your perfect body…_

The is no question as to who sent it. His first reaction is to gather her tightly in his arms and shush her as she starts to hyperventilate. He holds her close against his chest, as if to shield her.

And after all his promises of safety and love, her nightmares begin to come true.

A/N: Thanks for reading, please comment!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Wow. I'm so, so happy with all the reviews! You guys really do make my day, you know ;) Here's the next part, hope you all enjoy! I'm hoping I'll be able to post for my other stories soon, but I'll post for the story that most people want me to post for. I will try my best to get it updated, but YIKES, exams in a WEEK! *Sights and shakes head * Anyways, until next time.

**qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqp**

He debates a trip to the ER.

She's whiter than a sheet, and is trembling so badly that the table she grips vibrates also. Her other hand is ruthlessly fisted in the collar of his shirt, scrunching the material in her palm tightly. She stares blankly at the letter, her gaze never wavering, her forehead beading in sweat. Her breathing comes in short pants, falling against the material on his chest. Elliot has his arms wrapped securely around her, his left hand pushing the side of her head under his chin; the other hand encircles her waist.

"Liv?" He whispers her name tentatively, not wanting to startle her. "Y'ok?" He rubs small circles on her back.

And finally, after minutes of silence, Olivia makes a sound. But as soon as the reprieve of knowing she's coherent flows through him, the rush of unadulterated dread freezes the relief in his veins. Olivia is mumbling a string of illogical words, her voice as shaky as her hands.

"No, no, he-he-he c-can't, please p-please I, I-I-I have t-to…Elliot, Elliot, no…"

He rocks her in his most soothing manner, "Hush, Liv. He can't hurt you. No one will hurt you."

Olivia becomes restless, she hyperventilates and fights against the cage his arms make, and although he is reluctant to let her go, he knows that she probably needs her space. Elliot is relieved that he released her, in the end, because all she can say is a murmured "Oh," before she heaves and vomits all over the kitchen floor.

Elliot is quick to go to her, and he sloppily bundles as much hair as he can gather into a messy grip at the back of her neck. He fights the natural urge to step away when her body convulses violently again as she empties the rest of her stomach onto the tiles.

Her arm comes up to grip the side of the refrigerator tightly, and her back rises and drops as the aftershocks ripple through her. She breathes heavily, and stays in the safe, doubled over position. She coughs and dry-heaves several times, but her tired muscles have nothing more to offer in order to relieve her pain. After five pregnancies and five children, Elliot has learned to suppress the natural gag-reflex he used to feel, but for him it has never completely gone away. His throat tightens a little every time Olivia's body seizes. Elliot feels uncomfortably helpless as he stands there telling her that she'll be all right and that it's going to be just fine.

Because he knows it sure as hell will not be fine. Motherfucker is tormenting her even from his supposedly restrained state. And just as her shambled life is getting back to a relatively stable state, he has to just splinter her carefully constructed resolve all over again. Elliot would take his time killing the son of a bitch. He'd gladly damn him to hell.

After rubbing her back soothingly for a moment, Elliot moves his hand to touch her forehead lightly, reassuring her with his presence. He exhales stiffly when he realizes that he's been unconsciously holding his breath. "OK?" He asks, making sure she's done.

"Y-yeah," She says, and she swipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Don't apologize."

Olivia rests her head in her hands, and sighs a quivering breath. "I'll get the mop."

"Nah, Liv, I'll do it. Go brush your teeth."

He gently ushers her in the general direction of the bathroom with a hand on the small of her back. Olivia's breath catches, and for a moment he's sure she'll protest, but then she nods meekly and makes her way over to her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. Elliot flinches and steps around the puddle of mess on the floor, walking on the balls of his feet over to her small but handy hall closet.

He retrieves the mop and bucket and quickly takes care of things, making sure to leave absolutely no evidence of what has just taken place. He doesn't want her to have any reminders to make her feel embarrassed or guilty or whatever other ridiculous emotion an unbalanced Olivia may feel in retrospect of recent events.

He's exhausted, because he doesn't have any experience dealing with his partner this way, and her overload of emotion these past weeks has just completely drained him. All his efforts go into pleasing her, making her happy, and it pains him to see that she's still so _unhappy _even after his efforts. He realizes, with a worried sigh, that that bastard Harris has just gone and made it so much more complicated for her. Elliot had thought they'd been on the right track. The times he heard her waking up at night were more and more spaced out, and the times she ran into his arms for shelter were even more rare recently. Maybe it had been because she hadn't wanted to be around him as much after their…incident…or maybe she had really been getting better. His hopeful mind had drawn him to the latter, but now he knows that their spark has been extinguished. Hope for a rapid recovery was indeed smashed upon the arrival of Harris's letter.

Elliot now stands in front of the closed (and locked) bathroom door, unsure whether he should knock or not. Flashes run through his mind at all this times in the previous weeks that Olivia has taken him by surprise with her mood changes. He asked Huang about it, and the doctor had told him that is was common among people with PTSD to experience vivid spasms of anger or depression, and then the next moment have a brief high and feel fine, reckless in their comfort, even. Well, that would explain her throwing herself into his arms and demanding that he make love to her three weeks ago.

So even though his conversation with Huang was supposed to ease his discomfort and reduce his confusion, he now finds himself at a bewildered loss as to what to do. He has absolutely so clue as to what's going on in her head right now.

He decides to face the truth that she shouldn't be alone in a bathroom right now, and tentatively knocks on the wooden surface of the door. "Olivia?"

"Yeah?" Her voice is hoarse; she coughs to clear her throat. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

There is silence in answer, but he sighs a breath of relief when she carefully swings the door open, letting him in.

"Aw, hon. Come here," He whispers when he sees the small tracks her tears have left behind on her cheeks. He hold his arm open to her, an inviting embrace that she quickly takes him up on. Olivia lets herself be folded up in her partner's arms, tucking her face delicately in the crook of his neck.

"Why me?"

"I don't know, sweetie."

"Why does he have to keep doing this to me?"

"He's sick, he's wrong, but he can't hurt you." Elliot keeps up with the rhythmic motions of his hand on her back.

"How did he even get my address?"

"I'm sorry. I'll find out, but I don't know."

Elliot notices the change in her state the second it happens. She tenses up, and her hands start to tremble again. When she briskly pulls away, her eyes flash in brilliant anger.

"That's the fucking problem here! _No one knows a fucking thing_!" Her voice is loud, and her hands ball into tight fists at her side. She turns away from him.

"Olivia, honey, calm dow –

"_Don't you dare tell me to calm down_!"

She whips around to face him again as she says it, her hand slicing through the air to silence him and Elliot tries to hide the flash of anger in his own eye. _It's not her fault, it's not her fault, it's not her fault…_He chants the words in his head to keep from lashing out. He'll never forgive himself later if he lets his well-known anger issues get the better of him. Sure, it's not fair for him to take in her anger, but he's her only outlet, the only thing she can harm in the wake of her own anger and he doesn't think she does it consciously.

"Do you know what this feels like?" She looks him dead in the eye, her breasts heaving from the exertion of yelling so loudly. He tries not to get distracted. "_Do you_?"

He lowers his gaze to the floor. "No, Liv, of course I don't." He speaks quietly, trying to reign himself in.

"Every single minute of my life, I am _constantly _on my toes, forever on edge! I can't even go outside without having a fucking mental breakdown! _People look at me like I'm fucking crazy_!" Her eyes dart wildly around the room, and her voice rises to a level that he never though it could have reached, and he can't help but think that right now, she does look crazy. He wishes he could help her; he just wants to take her pain away.

Olivia screams as she rips the shower curtain from its hooks, raging out her frustration. "_I can't take it anymore_!"

And Elliot's had about enough; this has to stop before she hurts herself. He steps forward to grab the curtain from her.

"NO! Get _away _from me!" Her voice scales up several decibels.

"Okay," He puts his hands up. He has to do what she says, or else she'll surly get angrier. He needs to give her to control she so desperately wants, but lacks. "Okay, just take it easy."

"But you know what's worse than people thinking I'm crazy, El?" Okay, point made, now he's freaked out. Seriously. She's got this twisted devils grin on her face, but she's still seething with anger. "You want to know what's worse! Those fucking pathetic looks of sympathy I get from _every _one at work! They think they know…_they think they understand how I feel_! THEY DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

Elliot stands there in stupefied silence; he's at a complete loss for words.

"And now this…" She's crying again, tears spilling forward and down her face, landing in dark spots on her shirt. "I can't – I don't _want _to do this anymore! I'm DONE!"

"I know Liv. We'll get him. He won't hurt you anymore, I promise."

"But that's just it…you can't promise anything, El! Just look at the whole situation! I'm never going to feel safe. I won't ever be able to be alone, or go anywhere without you. None of this was even supposed to happen," She wails, sinking down to the floor. Olivia hides her face in her knees, and he can see her trying to settle down. He's frozen, though; he can't decide whether or not to approach her. The last time he tried, she nearly hit him. So he stands in front of where she sits, his concerned gaze locked on her shaking body.

"I know I'll never be the same again, and oh, God, that scares me so much, Elliot."

**qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq**

That night, in a prison North of New York City, Lowell Harris disappears.

A/N: Review?


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in a while…I'd defend myself, but I really don't have an excuse to put forth. All I can say is: On with the show and I hope you enjoy! By the way, I've declared this story officially AU, for reasons you will soon discover, and because this piece pointedly ignores everything after Undercover. Maybe you'll have to use your special Willing Suspension Of Disbelief on this one, depending on how critical you are of the Criminal Justice System. Sorry to the purists out there, but the plot would have died here if not for this one prison and it's very ineffective, incompetent staff members. You'll see what I mean.

Oh, and please comment :)

Elliot is sitting on her couch reading a chick magazine when the call comes. He lazily sets aside the latest edition of People, the one sparse piece of literature lurking around her apartment, and sighs while heaving himself out of his comfortable spot. He thinks that this had better be good, because Olivia is sleeping and he was indeed quite relaxed sitting there, immersed in Lindsay Lohan's latest rehab excursion.

"Hello?" He answers on the third ring, picking up quickly because the last thing he wants is for Olivia to wake up. She needs her rest, desperately, and he also finds it mentally exhausting. He's glad for the reprieve.

"Elliot?" John Munch's voice is confused, yet professional all the same.

"Munch, hey."

"Didn't know you'd be there, everything okay?"

Elliot inhales deeply, and exhales harshly, the result a heavy sigh. "It's…getting better."

And that wasn't a total lie. Things had been moving foreword, for a few weeks, until two days ago when she crashed again.

Elliot can almost hear Munch's scepticism. "Alright, then."

"Munch- ."

"No, really, Elliot. A man can tell when his nose is not appreciated in someone's business. Just…tell her we all have her back, will you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that."

"Good. On the other hand, not to be the bearer of bad news…"

"What?" Elliot feels his skin crawl and he unconsciously shoots a furtive glance out the window. There is really no other reason for Munch to be calling Olivia on her vacation time…it has to be serious. And, it has to concern Harris. Elliot can almost taste the impending disaster.

"You know, the government should really pass more tests, pick out all the incompetent little rats that can't be bothered to do their jobs-."

"John! Just tell me, okay?" Elliot's voice has accidentally risen to a louder, angrier pitch, and he hopes he hasn't woken his partner.

Munch sighs through the phone. "Alright, but are you near anything breakable?"

"Damn it, John," His fellow detective's attempt at humour concerning his lack of physical control is not in the least bit amusing.

"Harris has disappeared off the radar."

"What! That impossible! He's locked in some rat-hole prison up north!"

"Not anymore…security cameras catch him busting through a window on the second floor janitor's closet…and conveniently, no one seems to know how he got to said janitor's closet in the first place. A team's only as strong as it's weakest player, and in this case, there's a security officer who screwed them over and no one wants to take the heat."

Elliot is stunned. In his lifetime, he can count on one hand the number of times he's even _heard _of someone breaking out. It couldn't just be a coincidence that the _one _man who dares lay a hand on his Olivia gets out. He presses the heel of his hand to his eye, wondering how the hell he's going to tell her.

"Okay." He breathes a deep breath to steady himself. "So, where are you in the investigation?"

"Well, that's really not our job."

"John! I don't want some first-timer Fed handling this. So you and Fin get your asses down to that prison." Elliot's voice is a loud threat.

Munch's tone hardens. He's willing to be chewed out when he's being a pain in the ass, but he knows when to draw the line with Elliot. "Stabler, calm down."

"You can't tell me to fucking calm down – he could be anywhere!" Elliot yells.

From the hall, he hears a door open. "El?" Her voice is grainy and sleep slurred, but he hears her loud and clear. "What's going on?"

Elliot moves quickly to the kitchen and speaks several tones quieter, "I'm gonna have to call you back. Get on it, John. Please." And then he hangs up before the older man can reply. Or complain, knowing Munch.

"Who was that?" Olivia asks, her arms crossed over her chest, her hair rumpled from sleep. Elliot sighs again and closes his eyes, trying to digest this information.

"Uh…" He opens his eyes and replaces the phone in its cradle. "It's nothing, Liv. Go back to bed."

She scowls. "Like hell I am, you look like you've just seen a ghost." She shakes her head and lets out a humourless chuckle.

"It's fine."

She places her hands on her hips and looks at him with an expression that states that she is totally _not _falling for his lies. But it's Olivia, and she's learned not to push him, and so she clears her throat (displaying her discontentment) and sits on the couch.

Elliot walks over and sits down beside her. He's lost in thought. He knows for a fact that her door and her windows are locked, and now his next step is to put a detail on her building. She'll hate him, but he has to protect her. And what's worse, no one has seen Harris since. He could be right around the corner, for crying out loud! He is probably planning his newest way to torture Olivia. Oh, God. Elliot's hands rub over his face.

"Doesn't look fine to me…" Olivia states, and leaves the door open for him to continue.

"Liv…Just…Give me sec, okay?"

She looks at him, and then nods surreptitiously. She knows to give him space when he needs it.

So he sits and frantically worries, while she sits in the dark, confused. It stays that way for about ten minutes.

"Alright, Elliot. Enough. Tell me what's going on."

Elliot sighs and touches her shoulder. "Liv…"

"God, Elliot. You're so frustrating." She bounces up and picks up the phone.

Elliot closes his eyes and asks, in an irritated voice, "What are you doing?"

"I'm checking who last called, if you must know." She concentrates for a few seconds, and Elliot sits in the wake of the rhythmic beeping noises, ready for the bomb to drop. "Munch? Elliot, why did work call?" She walks over to where he is restlessly sitting, and places a hand on his shoulder. " Please tell me."

"Olivia, listen." He takes her hand and stands, putting an arm around her waist. "Stay calm, okay?"

She pulls back from his embrace slightly, because now she's really confused and yes, she's just been distant lately. She looks into his eyes, searching his gaze. "Okay."

"They, um…there was a breakout in the prison up north."

It doesn't click for her as fast as it did for him. "And?"

"Olivia, I'm so sorry."

Now she laughs for real, a small, worried little sound. "Elliot, what?"

"Lowell Harris escaped…they can't locate him. He's…gone."

She immediately tenses in his arms. But, on the contrary to how she acted in the previous weeks, she stays silent. No tears, no screams, no punching or kicking. Just…silence.

"Olivia?" He whispers, looking at her cautiously.

Her face is blank. Her eyes stare straight at the wall behind him, and he shakes her shoulder gently to get her to come back to Earth.

She pulls away from his gentle grasp, and walks directly to the window. She folds her arms around herself and looks down at the street. She shakes her head slowly, and then inhales deeply. She reaches up and draws the curtains tightly closed, and moves around the room doing the same to all the other windows. Checking the street, then closing the shades.

When she reaches her already locked door, her shaking hands make the door chain jingle as she slides the deadbolt into place. Elliot walks over to her, and puts a hand on hers to steady her. Because he knows that even if she looks calm, she's a violent storm on the inside.

Without talking, he slowly turns her around. She goes into his embrace willingly, tucking her face into his neck and grasping his shirt with her fingers. Her warm breath hits the side of his chin, and it's the first real physical contact they've had since The Incident three weeks ago. It feels so good to be close to her again.

Elliot smoothes his hands over her back when she inevitably starts to sniffle, and he wonders just how much it's going to take for her to finally be left in peace.

A/N: Please review! Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

It's so like Olivia to act unaffected.

It's so like Olivia to pretend that she's fine.

It's so like Elliot to read between the lines.

It's so like Elliot to push.

And push.

And not see the signs.

As if it's even possible, the situation continues to decline. Now, it's like two separate ordeals. The first being Harris and his escape, the second being Olivia's mental state. Both are rapidly deteriorating. Harris, because no one knows where he is, and the last news anyone had about him was the threatening letter he sent, and Olivia because really, no matter how strong she claims to be, there's only so much a person can take.

She's irritable and quick-tempered this week. And Elliot is almost certain he knows why. She's got house-head. Olivia hasn't left the apartment in at least two weeks. It didn't seem to bother her at first, however little communication she was having with him, but now she's full of snappy remarks and nothing he does is ever the way she wants it. So she's got house-head, or she's really breaking under the stress. Either way, a walk in the park will do her good, he decides.

"Hey, Liv?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking…"

"What?"

"I think we should go for a walk."

Her expression remains blank, even though he searches it thoroughly for any sign of discomfort.

She sighs, and inhales through her nose. "…Not today, El." She looks anywhere but his face.

"Why not? Look outside – it's a beautiful day!"

"Yeah, so what? I'm not…feeling well."

Bull.

She's scared.

"Okay, Olivia, listen. You've been inside for two weeks, you know you need to get some air."

"I'm fine."

Of _course_ she's fine. She's always fine.

"Well…who knows? Maybe some change of scenery will help clear your head."

"I…I mean…" She fumbles with her words, her eyes darting around the room, skirting the question. Elliot knows that's a sure sign that she's nervous.

"Hey, hey. It'll be fine. We'll just walk in the park for a bit. And then you can come back and…hibernate." He tries a grin and tenses, waiting for her reaction. Lately she's been so unpredictable.

She glares. She swallows thickly and he can tell she's trying to overcome some sort of unwanted emotion. "Ha ha. Very funny, El. But no, I'm good. Thanks."

"Olivia. You can't stay here forever."

And really, that is the root of it. She can't stay here forever, and she can't live in fear. Sure, Harris is off the radar, but he'll be right beside her. She'll run no risks. And he knows that once she's proven to herself that she can do it, she'll feel much better.

She lowers her chin to her chest, and mumbles something quietly.

"What's that, honey?"

"I said I don't want to go."

"You'll do fine. And I'll be right beside you, remember?" His voice is soothing, and he tries to help her feel comfort.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "God, El. Don't treat me like a baby!" She goes back to glaring, and he can tell he's probably struck a nerve.

There it is again, that always promised, yet unpredictable mood swing.

Elliot's confused because he thought that what she was seeking was reassurance. She's getting harder and harder to read, and he's taking it hard. Every time he tries to do something to help her, or act the way he thinks she needs, she blows up.

"Come on, Liv. I promise you'll feel better after."

XOXOXOX

It's chilly outside. That's the first thing that registers in her mind. The last time she walked these steps it was comfortably cool, and now it's chilly.

Really, there's no difference, but her mind has taken to thinking automatically negative. Like connotations in writing, her mind is viewing in undertones of black.

Elliot's got one hand on the small of her back, and she can tell he's hesitating. She almost laughs at that, because after all they've been through together these last several weeks, a hand to the back shouldn't make any difference. But she knows she's been distant physically since the…incident, and he's only respecting the boundaries that she herself has laid down. She wants him, she really, really does, but she doesn't want to freak out, either. A slammed door, or a car backfiring, and she's sent into a fit of tremors.

Still. She wants him to treat her like he did before! She doesn't want anything to change just because she feels scared.

And she doesn't deserve to feel that way.

For God sakes, she wasn't even raped.

There are crowds today, on the street. It's expected, though, because it's garbage day and it's Wednesday, mid-week rush. Voices and noises echo in her mind, all melding together to create a constant noise that sounds like a screech, like brakes telling her to stop, stop, stop. To turn around right now and go back inside before something bad happens. If one good thing came out of Sealview, it's that her instincts are that much more acute.

But El's beside her. He's there, and he won't let anything happen to her. She knows that. She trusts him. True, she's been completely rotten toward him since…the Thing…but it's the stress. She doesn't think she can really handle putting on a show anymore. She's truly sorry she's kind of shut him out, especially since she really does appreciate all his effort and his concern. She's just…confused. Because one second, she wants him _so _much, and others she just wants to cry and be left alone. She suffers from a constant interior chill. She knows it's not healthy. She just…needs time.

He's right, though, about the fresh air helping her. The breeze feels so nice on her skin, and she's staring to breathe more freely as the walk goes on. She can feel the sunlight doing wonderful things to her dark mind.

Just to reassure him that, yeah, she still loves him despite the rather bitchy state she's been in, she pressed against his side and slings and arm around his waist. He reciprocates, and finally it's how it is supposed to be. Close contact, uninhibited, affection.

"Okay?" He asks, mouth against he temple. Always careful, he's watching out for her, watching out for her mental feelings, making sure their current situation is alright with her.

"Yeah." She sighs, and closes her eyes. "Yeah, thanks."

He gives her a small squeeze. "I got you."

She smiles slightly, "I know."

She leans her head on his shoulder as they continue walking. She realizes that she really likes the smell of him. It's comforting. It's familiar and masculine and totally Elliot.

She lets him lead, and although she has to glance at the sidewalk regularly in order to not bump into strangers, she can observe the sky and her surroundings with renewed…freedom.

Take that, Harris. I'm outside. I'm living my life. I'm not a coward. I'm enjoying a walk with my partner. Ha. She's proud of herself.

The air she breathes in is clear and refreshing, and she feels it purify her lungs. She feels the chain coming off her ankles. Elliot was right, this is so much better.

She does, however, still catch herself peering discreetly into alleyways and storefronts, but it's natural. It's instinct. Watching her own back, even if El's got the job down pat.

She knows she's not healed, but she's not completely broken, either.

Her hand rests on his hip, and she gives him a small squeeze. He does the same, and although she can't see it, she knows he's smiling. He's happy if she's happy.

Elliot is quiet, and he seems lost in thought. Distant, almost. Soon, their laid back but steady pace yields to a slow shuffle, before it stops altogether. Elliot has been the one leading, so naturally when his feet stop moving, so do hers. He drops her waist in favour of her hand, and swings their arms sweetly like a pendulum back and forth, back and forth. Elliot still hasn't spoken when he strolls into the small alleyway off the sidewalk. He tugs on her hand, making sure she follows him. He faces her, his body like a protective shield.

"El – what?"

He only stares into her eyes, the blue hue of them shining. She looks around, because it's him and it's her and it's also kind of awkward, the way he has her between his chest and the concrete wall.

"Liv." He puts a finger under her chin to make sure she is looking at him. "Liv, it's going to be okay."

"I – what -."

"We'll get through it, you know. Together. I'm not leaving you."

"Elliot – I know – ."

"You don't know. Olivia, I can make out you've been pushing me away. Maybe you don't mean to, but it's like you're testing me."

"What are you talking about?"

"The silent treatment? The closed doors and the glares? It's like your waiting for me to get sick of you and abandon you!"

"That's not it! Elliot – I didn't mean -."

"But I'm not going, Olivia. You need me right now, and I'm not going to let you hurt. I'm staying. I'm your partner."

She can't believe what she's hearing. Did she really do that? Did she make him so uncomfortable that he feels as though he's being tested? That she's checking his faithfulness, his flexibility? She hasn't meant to. God, no, she hasn't meant to. It wasn't supposed to be like that. She'd just felt so crushed after he'd told her 'no'…She can recognize that she's been horrible. That she hasn't really been talking and that she's in a shell.

She stares at him, at his form hunched over her, his breathing laboured.

"I'm so sorry, El. I never meant to make you feel that way…"

"That's not the point, Olivia. The point is that you _need _to know that you can't drive me away - intentionally or not - because I…I…I'm going to stand by you. Through everything. I'll take care of you. You have to let me in."

She bows her head. "I'm sorry…I _do_ want you to stay. Don't let me act like that, Elliot."

He sighs, a relieved breath of air. Maybe he thought she was going to blow up at him…She's truly gone and messed it up.

"I want you to stay with me, Elliot."

"Good. Good. Liv, I'm so glad."

"Me, too."

"I'll help you get better…" His voice is so quiet, so gentle, and his breath hits her face in warm, soft puffs.

He stands still then, his fingers lingering on her chin, his eyes searching hers. Questioning.

His lips inches away.

When she blinks, he slides his hand gently into her hair, cupping her head from behind. When she doesn't make any sound of protest, he moves his head forward, so slowly, his forehead resting lightly against hers. He's a little hesitant, and she knows he's warrant of her unbalanced mental state. But right now, she feels no fear. No panic. Only excitement. Olivia feels her heart accelerate, feels her body's reaction to having him so close to her. She feels warm all over, like she's been lit on fire, and several emotions that have been dormant for several weeks are sparked to life. Her breathing becomes heavier, and she closes her eyes.

"Liv…Liv, Liv, Liv…" He whispers, murmuring her name reverently before closing the remaining distance between their lips.

His fingers tangle in her hair, his other hand clutching her hip firmly, his thumb stroking under her shirt. And all she can feel is the way his soft lips and coarse jaw feel _so_ good against her skin. The roughness of his short stubble and the pliability of his lips are perfect contrast, arising a dizzying heap of emotion. His fingers leave her hair, the palms of his hands caressing her face, as his lips move to press soft, butterfly kisses to her jaw, her cheek, her closed eyelids. As his lips press firmly to her forehead, he inhales deeply and thoroughly, making a soft sound when her fragrance registers in his brain.

"Mmmm…you're safe with me, Liv…" His moist lips are a feather light touch at her ear.

"I… feel safe with you…" She manages to whispers back, between breaths, and her own hands crawl up, find the inside of his jacket and loop around him. It's not like last time, when the kiss was frantic and more or less about control. Today it's soft and sweet and all about giving. All about security and feeling and…love. Yes, love. His mouth skims the side of her face, his warm breath tickling her face, his nose caressing her cheekbone. It is a slow descent to her neck, where he softly sucks at her pulse point, kisses her several times on the skin there.

Elliot's hands find their way under her jacket, and slowly untuck her shirt from her pants. He brushes his knuckles along the baby-soft skin he finds there. Olivia tilts her head back against the concrete wall and just feels. Eventually, when he has had his time learning the contours of her face, her neck, Elliot fuses his lips back with hers, and now she can be an active participant. Contentedly, she seeks out his tongue with hers, and together they begin a dance. He tastes so sweet, but also like power and security and it's all she expected from Elliot and more. It's gentle, but heated. The meeting of their tongues sends a spark of electricity shooting down her back. It pools somewhere low in her stomach. They don't fight for control, but instead offer it to each other. She has never felt so comfortable since the prison. It feels perfect.

Despite that fact that Harris has been threatening her, despite the fact that he's nowhere to be found, probably seeking her out, she feels momentarily safe. She feels as if in this moment, here with Elliot, nothing can touch her. And it's a _wonderful_ feeling.

It feels perfect.

Maybe, she thinks, this is where she has belonged all along.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I know it's been FOREVER. Hopefully, you still remember what this is about. A thanks goes to Thatlazybum for the beta!

She feels like a woman. Alive, inspired, confident, and Elliot's woken dormant feelings within her that she was sure she'd never feel again. She feels like a strong and capable human being, and as she rides the high of Elliot's drug, she feels like she's on top of the world. Her heart still pounds in her chest, she can still feel her pulse somewhere below her belly button, and she can most definitely feel the warm weight of his hand in hers.

They walk at a steady pace, and although they're just out for a leisurely stroll, she's so worked up that she couldn't slow down her feet if she tried.

"Told you you'd feel better," Elliot says, and gives her hand a squeeze.

"Shut up," she replies, bowing her head trying to hide her grin. Elliot chuckles and they keep walking.

"You hungry?" He asks, scanning the area around them.

"Depends," she answers, looking up and him with a sideways grin, "On what I get to eat," and she wags her eyebrows, and winks.

"Aw, Liv. You're horrible." He tugs on her hand and renews their fast pace, shaking his head.

"What?" she protests, grinning. "Obviously I meant hotdog or salad bar." She frowns in fake confusion, happy to be playing with his mind. "Wait. What were _you _thinking?"

"What? You said-" he says in bewilderment, looking down at her.

"You thought I meant…God, El, and you call _me_ horrible. I wasn't even _thinking _about that. Get your mind outta there," she laughs, because really, she _was _thinking that, but it's so fun to take him for a ride. No pun intended.

"Liv," he groans, with a grin. "Come on. What do you want for lunch?"

She looks as him quizzically and he stares back, and she slowly raises and eyebrow.

They both explode into laughter, and she notes that it feels so good to forget everything that's had her so stressed out, even for just a moment.

They're light, happy minute is brusquely interrupted by a young man, of about twenty five, approaching them and placing his palm on Olivia's shoulder. She and Elliot were busy relishing in the aftermath of their little joke, so neither saw the man arrive. At his touch, Olivia bolts up straight, her shoulders bristling, hand clenching around Elliot's before she quickly moves away from the unfamiliar hand and ducks closer to her partner.

"Whoa," the stranger warns, retrieving his hand and holding it by his head. "Whoa."

Olivia closes her eyes and tries to focus on Elliot's hand rubbing slow circles at the small of her back; she's trying desperately to swallow her irrational fear. Three breaths in and out, long and slow, and she finally clams her heartbeat.

"Sorry," she apologizes to the stranger, her hand tight around Elliot's.

"Uh, okay," the stranger answers, nervously. "Anyways," he licks his lips, "A guy just down the street asked me to give you this," he says, and promptly hands the white envelope to Elliot.

"Uh," Elliot says uncertainly, accepting the envelope, "Thanks."

"Hey, don't mention it…didn't mean to cause any, uh, problems." He smiles weakly at Olivia, who tries her best to smile back. She's angry with herself, angry that such small things could send such irrational fear coursing through her body.

Elliot tears open the envelope that has his name scribbled across the front in tiny penmanship.

As he unfolds the piece of paper that was tucked inside, Olivia rises to her tiptoes to read over his shoulder.

_Making moves on my girl? _

_Well then, let the games begin. _

_She's mine. _

Olivia presses her fist tightly to her lips, in an effort not to panic. Elliot stands frozen, the paper quivering as he holds it in shaky hands. It is the small sound of panic from behind him that spurs him back to life. Harris was watching. He saw it all. He saw Elliot kiss her.

"Liv," he says, turning to her, and placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Liv, Liv, Liv. Shhhh," he moves his thumb in bold strokes at the base of her neck. "Look at me, look at me," he ushers, pulling her into the shaded part of the sidewalk, near the building entrances. "Stay. Here." He gives her shoulder a tight squeeze before taking off after the man who gave them the letter. He's a good ways down the street already, but he's wearing an eye-catching dark blue pullover, easy to spot.

"Hey!" Elliot yells in his best cop-voice. "Hey!"

He catches the attention of many people as he sprints, but it isn't for another good hundred metres that he catches the guy. "Excuse me!"

The stranger turns, and recognizes Elliot. "Yeah?"

Elliot approaches him frantically. "Where! Where," he pants, "Was the man who," inhale, "Told you to give the envelope to us?"

"Uh," the stranger says, looking irked at Elliot's erratic behaviour.

"Please!" Elliot yells, "Think! I'm a cop, and this is very important."

"He was back down the street, uh, that way," the man says, pointing back to where Olivia is standing, dazed, against the building's brick wall.

"What!"

"Yeah, just down back there, only across the street." He points instead to the flower shop across from a store a little ways past Olivia. "There. That flower shop."

"Thank you," Elliot says emphatically, "You've been a great help."

"Uh, you're welcome," he says, but Elliot can barely hear him for he's already turned and sprinting back to Olivia.

He keeps his eyes trained on her as he runs, and he bites his lip when he sees that she's shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and her expression blank.

"Olivia," he breathes, when he reaches her, and he slowly brings his hands to her shoulders in an effort not to startle her.

"El," she whispers, his name falling from her lips automatically. "El, it's him."

"I know. I know, Liv. Go in here," and he wraps a hand under her elbow and ushers her into the closest store, a small bodega advertising the cereal two for one special. He opens the door and gently pushes her inside, careful of her instability. "Stay in here, Olivia. Okay? I'll be back soon. Just. Stay. Here."

"El!" she says, more loudly, suddenly gripping his sleeve tightly. "El, it's him!" and her eyes are shut tightly closed and he's silently begging her not to panic. _Please, Liv, please, just let me go find him. Just relax. Don't break down now._

"I know. I know, honey. Just…stay here, okay? I'll be back."

"No!" she grips his shirt more tightly. "I- I can't."

"You can." He catches her gaze and looks into her eyes steadily. "You. Can." He gives her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right. Back. Don't move from this spot, okay?"

And before she can react, he tugs his sleeve away and closes the bodega door behind himself, effectively keeping her safely in the store. He takes off in the direction of the flower shop, running like he's never run before. Several cars and an assortment of other modes of transportation honk loudly at him or express their discontent with their voices as he darts across the wide street, dodging vehicles and cyclists, to get to the other side of the street. He ignores them; he's intent on his plan of getting to the flower shop as quickly as possible.

When he's made it to the front of the store without being run-over, he scans the area in front of the shop. His hands are clenched into fists and his ears would have smoke coming out of them if he were in a cartoon. No one, he means no one, threatens Olivia. Not if he can help it. Ever. This sick sonofabitch is going to pay a high price for his games. He observes the surrounding area again. Nothing. No sign of him. Elliot pushes through the glass door of the store, and walks in brusquely. He jogs over to the clerk at the desk.

"Did a guy come in here, tall, black hair, uh, healing injuries on his face?" Elliot pants, his hand gripping the desk.

The clerk looks at him in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Elliot doesn't have the patience for this. He needs to find Harris and release his pent-up anger on him.

"I need to know _now_, if a guy with that description came in here. Please."

"I just got on shift five minutes ago. I've barely had time to open the register yet. I'm sorry sir," the lady replies, "I can't help you."

"Shit," Elliot mutters under his breath, and he pushes away from the counter, proceeding to jog down the aisles of flowers, baskets, and miniature statues of garden gnomes. He kicks as things that get in his way, too worked up at the prospect of someone being so disrespectful toward his partner, angered at the fact that she is being threatened. It's new for him; too, the fact that _he _feels threatened too. He's never felt out of control as much as he does today, and he's scared to shit because he knows that Harris is watching them now, and that every move Elliot makes has consequences. He runs his eyes past every corner that he goes by, but soon realizes that his effort is fruitless. There's no place big enough or secluded enough in this popular florists shop to hide, let alone camp out.

And though Elliot would love nothing more than to pound Harris' face in, the bloody his knuckles on Harris' jaw, he gets no relief.

Harris is long gone.

pqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

Olivia sits on a stool just inside the entryway of the store, her shoulders hunched, her arms wrapped around her middle. She's rocking herself back and forth slowly, her gaze trained on the tiled floor.

Where did Elliot say he was going again? She'd been too worked up to really hear him. All that registered was that he was leaving. He told her to stay. She begged him to stay. And he left. She's scared again, and she's damn tired of feeling that way, but she can't help it. She can't help it. It's not just another perp out to get her. This time, there's a sick psycho that tried to rape her coming after her to finish the job. Oh, God. Elliot. Where's Elliot. She wants him. She wants him. She needs him. She's alone and the walls are closing in and she can't breathe, she can't breathe, she needs to go home _now_…And it's Harris, it's Harris, it's Harris again…

"Liv!" he exclaims as he opens the door of the small store, the bell up top jingling animatedly. "You're here." He breathes a sigh of relief, but the wind is quickly knocked out of him as she stands and hurls herself violently into his arms, wrapping her arms in a tight hold around his shoulders.

"El!" she yells, her face in his neck. "It's him, it's him!"

Elliot realizes that he should never have left her there alone.

A/N: SO, we're back in action...whaddya think?


End file.
